XVI.

But ere they could perform this pious duty, The dying man cried, "Hold! I've got my gruel! Oh! for a glass of _max_![567] We've missed our booty; Let me die where I am!" And as the fuel Of Life shrunk in his heart, and thick and sooty The drops fell from his death-wound, and he drew ill His breath,--he from his swelling throat untied A kerchief, crying, "Give Sal that!"--and died.